Us Two

Janet Hoggarth

Description

'Heart-swelling, heart-breaking and all-round unforgettable - this is the campervan journey everyone will love this summer.' Shari Low

When Florence met Rowena, they knew for sure that they would always be friends.

Wayward parents, boring teachers, teenage crushes, first heartbreaks – anything and everything could be faced as long as Florence had Rowena by her side.

But then she didn’t.

And life had to be redrawn and reconsidered.

Being a grown-up has its perks, but as Rowena faces the biggest challenge of her life, and Florence wonders if it’s time to stop running away from hers, there’s a wise soul who knows the one thing that can help them both. Some friendships are meant to last forever, and it’s never too late for forever to start again.

Joyous and heart-breaking, laugh-out-loud funny, life-affirming and unforgettable, join Flo and Ro on a journey that will warm your heart and perhaps make you wonder about those old friends who knew you so well.

Janet Hoggarth is the bestselling author of The Single Mums series. Perfect for fans of Marian Keyes, Mike Gayle and Jenny Éclair.

What authors and readers are saying about Janet Hoggarth:

‘A soul-searching, heart-warming story about mothers, daughters and shocking secrets. I adored it!’ bestselling author Shari Low

‘Such brilliant characters, such amazing insights and some great one liners that I hope I will remember. I thoroughly enjoyed this - must go to sleep now as it is nearly morning but I couldn’t put it down! Enjoy.’

‘I don't usually take the time to write a review but felt compelled to do so for this book. A story of 4 generations of women and their stories and how information withheld from each creates unforseen repercussions that spin out over many years. I felt like I was reading someone's personal journey of discovery and not just a character in a book. Quality realistic conversations throughout. Lovely story!’

‘What a great read. Read it over two days because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It just hit home with all the “family secrets” that seem so important at the time and so meaningless generations later. It really hit home as I work through my own genealogy. Good read and I will definitely watch for more by this author.’

‘A heart-rending, heart-warming, heart-stopping and hilarious tale of a mother's love and a wounded soul rediscovering her awesome potential for life and (we are left hoping) for lasting love.’

‘Sometimes heart-breaking, frequently laugh-out-loud funny and always searingly honest. The story is a rollercoaster and one that I was hooked on until the very end. More from Janet Hoggarth please!’

‘Best book I've read for a long time! An honest and empowering read.’

‘A real page turner! This book is written in a heartfelt and endearing way... the author manages to create a realistic story full of joy, heartbreak, tears and laughter.’

Sujets

• Siblings
• Women
• 21st century
• Sibling
• General officer
• Woman
• The Women
• General
• Family Life
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 19 juillet 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 1
• EAN13: 9781801627481
• Langue: English

Extrait

US TWO


JANET HOGGARTH
To Neil for always supporting my writing. I really could not do it without you! All my love x
Give a woman a fish you feed her for a day. Teach a woman to fish and you feed her for a lifetime…
OLD CHINESE PROVERB
CONTENTS



Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue


Acknowledgments

More from Janet Hoggarth

About the Author

About Boldwood Books
PROLOGUE
THE LOST EMPORIUM



January 2019, Steyning

Nellie grinned optimistically at Cassie from inside the unkempt outbuilding, partly obscured behind her woeful stablemates – a Subbuteo football table missing half its players (a few headless cohorts held fast), and an exhausted-looking wine fridge. The poor fridge, obviously embarrassed at having fallen so far from grace, appeared to be incubating a Louis Pasteur experimental stab at a Frankenstein fungus. Cassie shivered – she detested mushrooms. How could you trust (let alone Put In Your Mouth) something that grew literally anywhere given the required length of time left undisturbed. She’d found some springing from Ant’s neglected football boots in the porch once, their etiolated phallic heads wobbling as she flung the offending things into the front hedge.
Nellie’s lights were on the fritz (or was that utterly fritzed?) – one was completely smashed while the other was cracked, reminiscent of a pair of unfortunate NHS spectacles crushed during a playground brawl. Her wipers were also suspended in animation across her mildewed windscreen. This potential purchase made Jeremy Clarkson’s midlife crisis look like a sedate trolley dash at Lakeland.
‘Mum, are you sure you want to buy it? It’s a wreck.’ Frank held his face in his hands and sighed.
‘That’s where you come in…’
‘Oh no, I haven’t the time to tinker with this.’
‘I’m not asking you to do all of it. I’ll do it.’
Frank’s mirth burst its banks.
‘I can do it!’ she insisted.
‘You gonna employ a spirit of a mechanic to help you?’
‘Maybe…’
‘Seriously, Mum, it’s a bloody white elephant. I can see it’s a bargain, but these things are money pits unless you refurb the whole thing at once.’
‘She is a white elephant, except she’s yellow and cream and she’s called Nellie, so that’s settled then.’ Cassie wasn’t budging.
Frank glanced sideways at his mum. She’d completely lost her pin on the map this time. They were all used to the crazy that had been emanating from her for the past few years. It was far too late to blame the menopause, that had already claimed her marriage (or was that Frank’s dad’s years of ‘extracurricular’ activities?). This was another level, suspended on a glittery rainbow bridge with the cumulation of crystals, the spirit guides and the aura cleansing. Not forgetting tarot cards, angel cards, crystal balls and pixie dust. Frank’s latter teenage years had been accompanied by a constant stream of people shuffling into the front room after work seeking answers to life’s big questions, and occasionally being told that they’d left their garage keys inside the freezer by some deceased relative whom they’d undoubtedly had a grudge against when they’d been alive. Once Cassie had started bringing in decent money, he’d helped her transform the lacklustre shed at the bottom of the garden into her ‘office’, and clients used the discreet side entrance next to the garage, bypassing the house entirely.
‘I bought a Haynes manual on Amazon in preparation,’ she reassured him. ‘Leo told me to buy it.’
Frank smiled. He was used to Leo’s patchy advice from beyond the veil.
‘He said you’d help too.’ Frank rolled his eyes. Leo had apparently wanted to be the next Jimi Hendrix before he’d died but now was like an annoying teacher at school who always forced you to volunteer for tray clearing in the dinner hall, or litter picking. He really hoped Leo didn’t snoop around his flat. What if Frank was taking a shower? Doing a dump? Or, even worse, when Rachel came back after the Plough last Saturday and they’d attempted that gruelling position from Plane Trains and Shagmobiles . The windmill, or something? He’d ended up almost putting his back out…
‘How did you even know it was here? No, don’t tell me, Leo told you…’
Cassie laughed. ‘How did you guess?’
With the help of Jezz, the verbose owner of The Lost Emporium, Frank hooked the camper onto the back of his tow truck, leaving the forlorn fridge and football table awaiting their forever homes. The upcycling business could be cruel, according to Jezz. One year the market would be raving about repurposed pallets, maximalism and wheelbarrow garden planters, as well as building frames out of anything, including old cutlery or setting objects, even false teeth, in resin, all for the ubiquitous gallery wall. Then before you knew it, the gallery wall was passé, undressed walls, minimalism and Scandi were back in and wheelbarrows as planters were in the doghouse. It was like the bleeding stock market.
As far as Frank could tell, VW camper vans had always been in vogue, but this yellow one appeared to be particularly buggered, the engine having been stripped out so the previous owners could employ the empty space as a champagne fridge, upgrading its kooky charm as a stationary outdoor room at their seaside bed and breakfast. Nellie had eventually wound her way to The Lost Emporium after the B&B went bust and the house clearance firm moved in like locusts. Thankfully she was rescued by Cassie, or was it Nellie who had really rescued her?



* * *


November 2021, Hailsham

Frank pulled up outside Cassie’s Hobbit house. There was no room for him on the drive any more, not with Nellie monopolising all the space. His mum’s small garage was barely big enough for a car, let alone the van. The chest freezer hogged the best part of it, crammed with an inordinate amount of food for an imminent apocalypse (no doubt predicted by Leo). Should there ever be a disastrous chicken Kiev shortage, Cassie was well placed to barter for steak and kidney pies or bread flour.
‘So, when can you help me with Nellie’s insides?’ Cassie asked her son as she blew on her cup of tea. They were standing in the narrow galley kitchen, leaning against the rustic cabinets hand-painted in a warm peach tone that popped against the navy-blue walls, a packet of Hobnobs open between them, ready for dunking. ‘I need to put a kitchen back in for the Big Trip, I found one on eBay that might be good? Looks like an original and the people said the fridge still works. I could put some disco lights in and have a bar too?’
‘Mum, I haven’t got any time at the mo. Can’t you cope with the camping gas and the deck chairs for now? The bed’s still pretty good. Most campsites have facilities…’
Cassie smiled at her only son; he was a decent lad and had worked hard getting his own garage up and running in just over a year. Cassie was used to her family rubbing up against her ‘mad’ notions. When she’d finally thrown in the teaching towel ten years ago to concentrate on using her ‘gift’, they’d all thought she was even more deranged than they had previously suspected. Though admittedly they’d eventually choked on their words like errant fish bones because leaving teaching had turned out to be a smart move…
Being a psychic was a bit like being an undertaker – ironically you had a job for life with a bottomless well of lost souls and friends and relatives desperate to reconnect with dead loved ones.
‘Whatever makes you happy, doll. Teaching will always be there,’ Ant, her husband and fellow teacher, had said at the time, his disingenuous support obvious from the outset. He’d clearly thought she would realise her idiotic mistake and come crawling back from underneath a pile of crystals and ask for her old job back. Not so. Cassie’s psychic ability had propelled her towards this calling for years, but it was only once she’d gradually built her client base that she found the confidence to cut herself free from the day job. She had genuinely enjoyed teaching, but over the years it had become all about league tables. Individual pupils and their needs were steamrollered in favour of the homogenous achievement of some schools anointed with an academy status. It had become harder and harder to find everyday joy at Horsham High, newly transformed into one such Academy. Also, one couldn’t really be a teacher and a renowned psychic – what if she could see future questions in the English GCSE paper? A conflict of interests…
Cassie loved her regular clients and the rapport they had built up, but she also looked forward to the thrill of psychic fairs: meeting new people, helping to solve riddles and offering solace and advice, relaying funny stories, hopefully making someone’s day, rekindling hope or offering closure. Every day and every client was unique. She’d felt the need for a professional name to differentiate her from Cassie Higham, the teacher and Ant’s wife. Cassandra Galaxy commanded respect and added a sprinkle of glamour, fancier than her prosaic married name. It wasn’t until almost four years ago that Cassie cut her final tie to conformity and left Ant. To say he was surprised would be a lie – the ice had been so thin he’d been practically aquaplaning through married life. You can’t play around behind someone like Cassie and hope to get away with it for ever. She had a whole battalion of sentries eager to dob him in.
In the end it wasn’t Leo, or Precious, or the legion of others that raised the alarm. Cassie had always been well aware of Ant’s extracurricular activities, and in a way, it suite